All the Stars in the Heavens (11 page)

Loretta was capable of following the rules, except when it came to people she cared about. She was game to break rules to benefit others, but never herself. If she liked you, as David Niven and Alda Ducci had found out, she welcomed you into her life, shared everything she had, made you family, and never let you go.

David followed Loretta and Alda into the dressing room bungalow. Loretta's team was ready to put her through “the car wash,” as the actress called it. She was buffed, plucked, rolled, and pressed, ready for the cameras at 6:00 a.m. sharp.

David sat back and watched the proceedings with wonderment. He had not seen this aspect of the process up close. As an extra, he only saw the finished product, the actress fully made up and costumed, surrounded by her staff, shielded by an umbrella carried by a dresser lest the California sun age and scorch her on her way to the set, her bungalow, or the commissary.

David observed that once the studio believed in you, they protected their investment. Niven longed to be a contract player, vowing
he would never complain, if he were so lucky as to go under contract, about any role assigned him. He said he would play a toilet plunger if Louis B. Mayer asked him to, and he meant it.

He observed as the makeup artist applied rouge to Loretta's cheeks. He could barely stand to watch as they made her creamy skin like glistening marble, her eyelashes as thick as the bristles on a push broom, and her lips a shade of pink that he could only recall on his favorite flower, the peony.

In the course of the previous evening, Niven's yearning and attention had spun through the Young sisters like a roulette wheel, his fancy landing first on Sally, then on Polly, and now on Loretta. He adored them all, with indiscriminate grace notes of lust. Like a man in a showroom full of new cars, unable to pick just one, he coveted all equally. Is there much difference between a roadster, a convertible, or a coupe? They all had their charms, and so did the glorious Young sisters.

Niven appreciated all women, but beautiful women were his weakness. He'd almost put up with the worst aspects of character in a girl if she had a pretty face and a fetching figure. He would endure a twit as long as her aesthetics held up in the hot light of the bright sun. There was plenty of that in California.

Niven was also vulnerable. He desperately wanted to sit on the merry-go-round, but it was spinning so fast that he couldn't get a running start to make the jump. He needed connections, and he needed them now. He had admitted to the Young sisters that he wanted an acting career. It was almost as brave to admit it as it was to find the determination to do it. Niven would have to dig deep for his acting ability, as it did not come naturally to him. Parlor storytelling was his gift, and he would do his best to apply those skills when it came to acting, but in the meantime, he'd have to charm his way into the movies.

Alda brought Niven a sandwich and a cold bottle of root beer while Loretta changed costumes for her work that afternoon.

“You're so kind, Alda. Will you join me?”

Alda looked around and took a seat next to him.

“We have a bond, you know,” he said as he fished in his pocket for his Swiss Army knife with the bottle opener.

“You worked in a convent?”

“I wish. I don't have the stuff for saving humanity. My liver is made of lily, I hate to tell you.” He snapped the lid off the soda bottle.

“I doubt that.”

“I have no courage.”

“You'll need it as an actor.”

“I don't know how Loretta does it.”

“She makes it look easy.”

“She's made fifty pictures, you know.”

“I imagine she was good in the very first one.”

“You know, Mr. Niven, it's not a sin to want to succeed.”

“It may be a sin to put an audience through one of my performances.”

“You don't know that.”

Niven sat up and smiled. “You know, you're right, I don't. I might be bloody good at acting.”

“Loretta says you're only as good as who you act with in the scene.”

“That's what Gable says.”

“You know him? Don't tell Sally.”

“Oh, she already dug those ten red talons into my arm when I told her I swabbed for him.”

“Do you know Spencer Tracy?”

“We haven't met. He does not participate in the sporting life. No shooting ranges, no boats, no golf. At least, if he does, I haven't seen him.”

“He's a good actor.”

“Not much of a looker.”

“It doesn't matter. You forget all that when he speaks. He makes you understand what he's feeling.”

“Loretta is sweet on him, so he must be a good fellow.”

“He is.”

“But it's complicated, right? Isn't it always a tangle when a man loves a woman?”

“I wouldn't know, Mr. Niven.”

Alda remembered the girls of Saint Elizabeth's. No matter their despair, they still believed in romantic love. They talked about
movies, how a kiss could save a character, redeem her or elevate her to a higher social station. Kisses had not done much good for the girls at Saint Elizabeth's, though Alda encouraged them not to turn bitter. Even as their pregnancies advanced toward labor, the girls would hold on to their dime novels, to the possibilities of a storybook romance happening in their own lives.

“I'm very grateful to you, Alda,” Niven said as he finished his sandwich. “You feed me. You quench my thirst.” He toasted her with the root beer. “And you took me in on the spot.”

“Everyone can see you're a good man.”

“Now what do you suppose the value of that is in Hollywood? I don't think I'll rise very far with goodness as my calling card. If I am polite, agreeable, and good-natured, I will be a deckhand and a caddy for the rest of my life. Of course, I will have a marvelous suntan in the process. I'll have absolutely no film career, but I will look like Midas by way of Pismo Beach. I shall be a golden god with a sterling temperament who buses tables at the Pig N Whistle.”

Alda laughed. She wondered if Mr. Niven knew how funny he was. He was so busy being suave and courtly, he might not have any idea how his real gift, the humor that came so naturally to him, was in fact the only talent he needed to become a star. It seemed to Alda that the people who were successful in Hollywood knew exactly who they were, and the parts they played were extensions of themselves and not a creation of someone new.

Father McNally knelt in the confessional booth, made the sign of the cross, and took a seat. He placed a purple stole around his neck, lit a small votive candle, and opened his prayer book.

The priest had noticed a long line of congregants in the front pew when he arrived for work, so he settled in for a long afternoon. His superior, Monsignor McNeill, was working the confessional on the other side of the church, but his line was shorter because he had a reputation for strict penance. Everybody, it seemed, even Catholics in search of absolution, rooted for the rookie.

He heard the door snap shut on the other side. A woman whispered in the dark.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. The last time I went to confession, a few moments ago.”

“You went to Monsignor McNeill?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Across the way?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then you must follow his penance.” McNally was in second command at the church. The last thing he needed was to return to the rectory that evening for his own penance and admit to the monsignor that he had overturned his absolution.

“There was no penance, Father.”

“Monsignor must have thought your confession was not a sin.”

“No, he said he could not absolve me.” The woman began to cry.

“Did the monsignor say why?”

“Father, please. I need your guidance. I'm in love, and I can't think.”

“You should talk to your mother.”

“I already know her feelings on the matter. She told me not to fall in love with this gentleman, but it was too late.”

“You should listen to your mother.”

“But you haven't heard my side.”

“I don't need to—I'm sure your mother is wise.”

“I'm in love with a good man. He's Catholic. But he is separated from his wife.”

“Are there children?”

“Yes.”

“What has this man offered you?”

“We love each other.”

“Is his intention to leave his wife?”

“I don't know for sure, but I believe so. He said he would seek an annulment to marry me.”

“An annulment isn't like paying a parking ticket. It's an arduous process.” The priest was exasperated. “There's a tribunal that doesn't guarantee a result in your favor.”

“I know that, Father.”

“If you know what you're doing is wrong, then you know what you must do.”

“Even though I will give up any future happiness?”

“How can something you know is wrong make you happy?”

“It can't, Father.”

“So you see, you didn't need to come to me. You know what is required of you. You have to end this love affair with this married man. He will not have the strength to do it.”

“But I love him. He needs me.”

“He is not free to love you, nor are you free to love him in the eyes of the church.”

The woman began to weep.

“Whatever happiness this love affair gives you is fleeting. This man belongs to another, and he has a family. Years down the line he would look at you with contempt for forcing him to break his vows, leave his children, and abandon his faith. You must end it now.”

“Please, Father.”

Father McNally leaned into the screen. He recognized the voice, but before he could say her name, Loretta Young pushed the door open and exited the confessional. Mrs. Belzer had already come to him and asked him to speak to Loretta. Gladys believed Loretta needed a father figure, someone with a different point of view, one more practical and less romantic than her own.

Usually, after confession, Loretta knelt before the shrine of the Blessed Lady and recited her rosary, but she was too upset to stay inside the church.

Loretta was turning to go when she saw Spencer, his back to her, kneeling in the first pew before the altar. Loretta couldn't face Spencer, so she slipped out the back of the church.

Spencer Tracy turned and saw Loretta leave. He thought about going after her, but he didn't want to make a scene. He helplessly buried his face in his hands. Tracy resented the constraints of his marriage, career, and religion. It seemed that there was no solution to his dilemma, which over time had become a conundrum that he could not
solve to his own or anyone else's satisfaction. He never seemed to get what he wanted on this side of heaven, and he knew that would probably be the case for the rest of his life unless he made the changes necessary to pursue personal happiness. He was a fatalistic Catholic, but he was also becoming a movie star, and that meant he would soon have all the things of this world that he desired.

He loved Loretta. He would press Louise for the divorce and pursue the annulment from the church that Loretta would require. Surely that would clear the path for the sacrament of marriage, and satisfy the priest and Mrs. Belzer. Tracy could not predict whether his plan would suit Loretta or be too great a sacrifice for her, but he was willing to do whatever it took to find out.